


Happy Hunting

by Trident Silver (fluxfiction)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Dante is a mess, Gameplay references, Gen, Heartwarming, Humor, Sin Devil Trigger (Devil May Cry), Spardas doing their best, crack with feelings, here's my motivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluxfiction/pseuds/Trident%20Silver
Summary: "So what you're saying is," Dante echoed, "our Sin Devil Trigger powers are now classified as military arms, we have to agree to join the military or we'll be arrested, possibly hunted for life, and the pizza place is closed today?"A fic which attempts to add (some) logic to the daily lives of the Sparda family.Post-DMCV, obviously.





	Happy Hunting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm83197](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm83197/gifts).



> it's weird to me how goofy 5Dante is, so i'm going to try and explain it. in a crack fic?  
> this spawned from bookworm83197 wanting SDT combat, and credits to the AoH crew for brainstorming the title of the newspaper!

Smoky turbine exhaust and harsh winds are what Dante sticks his head into when he leans out of the helicopter. To his left the sun dipping into the ocean saturates the world in shades of gold and rose; on his right are the remains of an island, fractured stone blocks swallowed by rough seas and high tides. By his side is a mounted machine gun manned by a door gunner aimed at six coalescing rings of darkness suspended one thousand feet into the sky.

The sun melts into the ocean and takes with it the light. In the back of his skull, a faint buzzing intensifies until the blood in his brain thickens into rust. Demons are coming - lots of them.

Dante breathes.

"Mallet Island. We meet again."

* * *

"So what you're saying is," Dante echoed, "our Sin Devil Trigger powers are now classified as military arms, we have to agree to join the military or we'll be arrested, possibly hunted for life, and the pizza place is closed today?"

The crisp man in the dress uniform standing in front of Dante's desk had close-cropped hair, a stern mouth, and hard, hazel eyes. Everything about him screamed business, and the way his jacket fit around his torso also told Dante this stranger was carrying a gun. Morrison hadn't mentioned it, but judging by his uncharacteristic decision to stand near the doors, Dante had a feeling that there were still more men outside the building who hadn't let themselves in.

"I wouldn't know about the pizza place, Mr. Dante," said Mr. Uniform, "but I believe you understand the general gist of your situation."

He'd brought along a binder. Vergil, having hopped out of the alcove he'd commandeered as his, picked it up whilst Dante stared Mr. Uniform down. Vergil still hadn't peeled his attention away yet.

"Dante," Vergil said, pausing over a paragraph, leaning closer, "you do not own a passport, do you?"

"Nope."

Vergil flipped the page. "And neither I. Any other legal documentation, too, we never recovered from the fire."

If Morrison could be any more nervous, he certainly was now that was spoken. Dante gave Vergil a look. So they don't have a bank account? That's why they always got paid in cash.

Vergil looked at Dante back. _Obviously_ , they could have - and still can be - arrested at any time.

Then Vergil added, "You were the one to throw a demon into the front doors of your pizza place, Dante."

"Well damn, really? I need that pizza."

Mr. Uniform coughed. "Gentlemen. Would you like a few moments? I can wait outside. Mr. Morrison, if you would accompany me?"

Morrison nodded stiffly, and if he could have looked more nervous, he did. A smile plastered itself onto his taut features after a long glance at both Dante and Vergil that made Dante wonder if Morrison did care about them more than being business partners necessitated. Within moments, the front doors closed behind the two humans, leaving Dante and Vergil alone in the office with the binder.

"Well, Verg?" Dante leaned back in his chair, plonking his boots on his desk. "This is all on you. Think we can outrun the military?"

He expected a glare or a retort of some sort. He did not expect Vergil to throw the binder over. Dante caught it, and with fingers brushing the paper—ordinary printer stock, laser ink—he saw what Vergil wanted to show him without even needing to be told.

"'DMC Company'? Are you — are you serious? They want us to be a demon hunting squadron, special forces?" Dante laughed. "And as First Lieutenants! You, me! We could be _Lieutenants!_ We could blow things up. We could _blow things up!"_

Vergil said nothing, his expression set in a poker face look. Dante's laughter trailed off, wondering what it was this time, and turned around to see the cabinet in the back corner. In it were empty bottles of exotic whiskies and the beginnings of Vergil's new book collection, that golden-spined poetry diary like some kind of homing beacon. Dante looked further and saw his jukebox, playing something mellow and jazzy, and then the pool table, balls strewn like abstract art from a game he'd started and hadn't played to the end.

He'd said a few times, he could remember, that he didn't have an attachment to material possessions. Aside from the picture of his mother he wouldn't miss anything if it was gone. Except thinking about it now, he doesn't know if that's so true any more. He could still remember the empty office, fighting demons barehanded, and then Lady telling him those words that changed his life, after _he_ changed the route of his life. That lurching cataclysm from the events in the Underworld which shaped him irrevocably and unforgiving.

He made Devil May Cry. It was full of memories of helping people and saving others, something he'd created when all he did with his sword was destroy.

The thought caused Dante to smile. It didn't feel like a pretty smile. "Yunno, it's nice to be up here and human."

"Indeed." Vergil reached into the binder for a sheet which revealed itself to be a contract. He placed it onto the desk. "You first." _It's your choice. Not mine._

"Way to pass, bro." Dante signed it, trusting that Vergil liked him enough not to give him something that would result in selling his kidneys or something.

Soon enough there were two signatures on the paper so Dante supposed Vergil did. Dante sighed. Goddamn, he'd miss being a slob.

Vergil mistook his expression as regret. "Do you think you've wasted your time here, Dante?"

"What? No." Dante paused. "Don't tell me you think the last twenty years were a mistake for you."

"I don't have an answer for that."

Dante rolled his eyes and Vergil glared at him. Right, so he couldn't help slapping Vergil's shoulder after that kind of comment. Whatever. "It'll be fine, big bro. Nero can keep this place up, he's put a lot of work into the business and he deserves it. As for you — you're back now, and that's what matters."

Vergil said, "Hn."

Dante wondered if he saw a smile returned or if it was just his imagination.

* * *

Truth be told, Dante has more than enough memories of Mallet Island for a few lifetimes, but there's not much he can do if random demons attempt to capitalise on whatever is still left to create a giant gate for the grand purpose of death and destruction. Part of him is impressed that they've somehow succeeded, given the state he left it. Another part listens carefully for the whisper of instinct that understands when to jump.

He hears it.

Distantly, the door gunner starts yelling to the helicopter's pilot. Were Dante wearing his signature red longcoat its tails would have been tangled in his legs. As it is, the jacket with the blood-red patch on its arm lets his body move as it's born to move. He releases the tips of his fingers from the panel and falls sideways; the rotor blast hits his face. It's not enough. In the fraction of a moment before his toes leave the cabin, he pushes himself at an angle. The next blast hits him in the diaphragm and he laughs.

And he's flying.

It's freedom and waking up and fire in his blood. It's swimming in his own adrenaline, being untouchable, life filling him from his bones, the perfect execution of a trick shot.

It doesn't go as long as he'd want; it'll never go as long as he wants. The whisper doesn't wait for him to notice it when he's close enough—it morphs him to Sin Devil Trigger mode without instruction—so for Dante, it's all one very quick second of wild, crazy freedom then suddenly wild, crazy bloodthirst and having four wings like they're always there. Still cackling, energy builds beneath his scales. It discharges and he flashes forwards, subsonic, afterimages trailing brightly behind him.

He descends like this onto a rocky outcrop, long legs and talons folding as they cushion the weight of his wings and scales. The thickening inside his skull begins to reverberate like a beat. He looks upwards and sees demons swooping out from the portals, so many of them they look like a cloud. From the sounds of gunfire and demonic screaming, the rest of Dante's team are still in range, taking potshots when the demons start to spawn. On paper, DMC Company's primary operations are the surgical elimination of demons in civilian areas. Dante thinks it's a shame the helicopters aren't authorised to carry napalm, watching the 7.62 NATO ammo beginning to lose its effectiveness as the smarter demons learn to hide behind their more unlucky brethren.

In the last rays of twilight, a lumping mass of demons peel off from the cloud like an arm and then a finger in the helicopter’s direction.

"Now that could be a problem," Dante comments, launching to intercept them. He makes it with breath to spare, Sin Devil Trigger mode more streamlined than it looks. The furnace in his veins rises to a level just beneath the membrane of his large, webbed wings, and he sends it out at the mass of demons when they're in range. What follows is a rain of fire that lights the landscape orange. They scream, disintegrate, decay. Crystals of blood glitter before being caught and absorbed by hungry cells.

The helicopter retreats to a safer distance at Dante's signal. Some of the demons have avoided his attack, breaking off and moving back towards the island. They're a different shape to the rest.

Dante flies after them.

They land in the remains of a castle courtyard. There's at least ten of them, six-limbed, fleshy, tall as a forklift. Dante glances as far as the few pillars still marking the skeleton of the drawbridge, remembering this place, then looks back to his current enemy. Their tails are thick and more than twice the length of their body, tapering into a blade. They hook their fingers or claws into its ridges and wield their tail much like a person would wield a sword.

"Huh," says Dante. He lands on a parapet, watching and observing their lopping movements. "They're big, I'll give you that." Dante grins and beckons them closer. He summons his sword once they're in range. "Mine's bigger!"

He drops. One, two, three strikes knocks them back. The others start moving and Dante jumps to avoid a slash. He flares his wings, maintaining altitude. "Points for effort!" Devil Sword Dante vanishes as fireballs launch from his palms. A breeze blows a sharp stench of scorched flesh into his nose and muffles the dull sounds of bone hitting stone. Badass. He throws himself back into the action, punching downwards. Fires of hell erupt along the edge of the shockwave and staggers them.

They stabilise. Dante exhales and sparks escape from his fangs. These demons and their tenacity ... his claws sinking into their flesh ... the blood that they would bleed—

The human inside cuts the rope.

Suddenly, the furnace drains down his legs and his energy sinks into the earth. Some of it hovers like stars in a galaxy of power. Devil Sword Dante returns to his hands. His Sin Devil Trigger decays.

Before Dante can deliver his judgement, a dozen glowing blue pillars fall from the sky. Dante spins his sword but it's too late; the demons have already engorged, shattered, their life going to the one which slayed them. By the time the final release snaps him out of Sin Devil Trigger, there is nothing left except smears of blood and worthless dust.

Dante looks behind him and Vergil's there, brushing out the front of his coat as if Dante needs another reminder about his stolen kills.

"You were taking too long," Vergil says, looking down at where Dante is kneeling.

Dante pushes himself back onto his feet. "When did you get here?"

"Just now."

"An entire island, and you choose _this_ spot?"

"We once fought nearby."

Being reminded of the Black Angel makes Dante close his mouth. He opens it again to make a joke, since that's _years ago_ now and _of course_ he's not _haunted_ by it, but his chest tightens around his words and there's a distinct heaviness in his limbs that has him wonder if he pushed for too long in Sin Devil Trigger.

"Those were mine," Dante says instead. It sounds lame even to him.

Vergil loosens Yamato in its sheath. It's almost as if he's using it to look at his reflection. "It's not a race, Dante."

"Yeah?" Dante folds his arms. "How many you on, Lt. Sparda?"

"Fifty-three."

 _Damnit._ "If it ain't a race, why are you keeping count?"

Yamato returns to Vergil's side with ease. A wash of power winks, flashing into existence, and then Vergil glances at Dante in his own Sin Devil Trigger. The metal buzzing in Dante's skull returns in the presence of a powerful demon.

"Show me your motivation."

His challenge thrown, Vergil flies off. Dante's lips fall into a smirk; he'll accept that challenge. And right next to him is a rock formation with the perfect shape to launch a counterattack from.

Sin Devil Trigger on cooldown or not, the rest of his arsenal can still set the night on fire. "Let's _rock!"_

* * *

Since Dante and Vergil moved out, and Dante handed the shop over to Nero, the changes to Devil May Cry have been ... something. It's cleaner, for one. The posters are gone, the walls now adorned with framed newspaper clippings. Dante's red sofas and his beloved pool table have been moved to the attic, replaced by some neat black numbers and a vase of flowers on the new, chic coffee table. There's even a filing cabinet, which Dante had found cute and tried to flip through until Kyrie noticed him removing a sheet of records in her accounting. He then subsequently understood why Nero was so whipped by his girlfriend.

Most interesting is the personal computer on the desk. It has lights! Speakers! Music which Dante doesn't need to buy! ... Even if the quality has nothing on real vinyl.

(Needless to say, Dante is really not allowed to touch that one.)

Dante kicks back on his red sofa and proceeds to enjoy the full freedom of choice from a cable TV plan under his name, not Morrison's. There are some benefits to having a salary and being recognised by the government as an entity with authorisation to stay on sovereign soil. When his show hits an ad break and Dante hurriedly goes to take a piss, he finds Nero playing Minesweeper over another document and Vergil sitting next to the coffee table with a cup of tea and a newspaper.

Dante adjusts his trousers while heading off to do his business. He hears the phone ringing and Nero answering it before the door closes, "Devil May Cry. How can we help?" By the time Dante has skedaddled back to his red sofa, Nero has vanished, though Vergil is still there. Two minutes later Dante comes back out because the girl picked the man who was obviously an asshole instead of the one who would have been perfect for her and he isn't going to watch them making out when he can investigate what Nero got called in for. He spends one minute trying to guess Nero's password on the computer— _kyrie_ , _ilovekyrie_ , _deviltrigger_ , _neroisthebest_ —to no success.

He changes his mind, gets himself a can of beer, and takes a seat next to Vergil.

Vergil has moved on to his next piece of reading material, a hardcover book that looks more boring than jail. Dante doesn't ask about it, grabbing the newspaper he'd put aside. It's this month's issue of _Interesting Times_ , the curious citizen's guide to crazy events which are challenging to explain with conventional common sense. Most of it is nonsense and conspiracy theories, but they have a fantastic tip-off hotline and there's at least _one_ demon or half-demon on the writing team pretending to be a normal human.

Leafing through it, it appears that someone has finally noticed that the demon hunter Dante no longer works at Devil May Cry. Several people have also noticed DMC Company's cleansing of Mallet Island, calling it a light show off the coast, though they're attributing it to being the location of a secret military demon research facility. Amusingly, it isn't too far off. Dante experienced first-hand the labyrinth of puzzles the Castellans used to protect their secrets. Mundus used the castle to trap him and try to kill him ...

Dante looks down at the article and then up at Vergil. Not realising what he's doing, Dante does it again. Vergil pretends to ignore his brother's stupidity.

It's after the fifth return Dante's eyeballs make in the rally that Vergil says, "What is it, Dante?"

"You're real."

"What," Vergil says.

Dante goggles. "You're _real._ "

"Will you please speak in more than two words—"

"You!" Dante jumps to his toes. He drops the paper and grabs Vergil by the shoulders. Vergil fumbles with the book and meets Dante with a terrifying scowl. Oh. One word is less than two words. Dante discovers his wit has shit itself within the last twenty seconds and scrambles to convey his realisation _Smokin' Sexy Style!_ "Vergil! You're not _it_ any more. You're _real!_ You're back, back from Hell, and you're not —"

The door to the kitchen opens and closes. "Did he finally go senile?" is Nero's voice.

Vergil looks past Dante's shoulder. "I do believe so."

"About time," says Nero, and anything else he says is cut off by Dante shaking his brother before throwing him into a hug. Vergil stiffens, considering for a very real moment if he should throw his brother halfway across the room. But the new Devil May Cry office doesn't deserve it, and Nero won't appreciate having a miserable lump of half-demon leaving marks against the wallpaper. Vergil's relationship with Nero, still but a thread, requires consideration and maintenance.

Dante starts to mumble and Vergil closes his eyes. His relationship with Dante, more knotted than a French knot, requires consideration and maintenance.

"There, there," says Vergil with very little grace. He pats his little brother on the back and Dante leans his possibly-crying face into Vergil's favourite clothes, which is _horrifying_. Vergil manages to suppress a flinch but can't entirely loosen the stiffness in his jaw. "Dante. I'm not the shirt. Dante, I am here."

By this point, Vergil has noticed that Dante's reaction is to do with the article about Mallet Island, and though he's not sure what it is about it, he realises enough between _I didn't want to believe it was you_ and _I don't think I could believe it until now_ to understand that: yes. He will give his weekend to Dante. After all, he started it. He was the one who decided to raise the Temen-ni-gru. Even in his brother's death grip, Vergil's composure prevails. The same can't be said for Nero, who hesitates in the middle of checking Blue Rose. On his back is Red Queen gleaming bright as he goes through the motions of leaving for a job. He has clearly never seen this side of Dante before. Well, neither has Vergil—not since they were six and Eva had fallen ill and Dante refused to eat takeout cuisine.

For some reason, this conclusion is unsettling.

"Oookay." Nero gives the brothers an awkward glance. He shifts, the human inside him understanding tact and the demon unsure how to go about it. "I'll be back in three hours, so. Let, err. Let Kyrie know if you're staying for dinner?"

With Dante in his arms, Vergil nods. He makes a note to see if Kyrie can cook any dishes from his memories. "Happy hunting, Nero."

In Vergil's arms, Dante murmurs, "This is real."

**Author's Note:**

> plot twist the announcer is actually dante's internal commentary track.
> 
> tentatively taking requests: <https://ask.fm/tridentsilver>
> 
> -TS


End file.
